Shake
by ghostinparis
Summary: On a journey to Terminus, Grace stumbles upon the estranged Daryl Dixon. What happens when two loners collide? Daryl/OC, in progress. This entire story came out of the picture of Daryl sitting on the road in season four, episode 13.
1. One

I stumbled through the brush, cutting away as best as I could with my hunting knife. Brambles from surrounding bushes cut at my skin, but I had walked for so long around the thicket, searching for a way out, that I finally realized that the only way I could escape would be to go straight through it. It certainly wasn't ideal, but as I could see sunlight filtering in through on the other side, I knew that a bush-free path was close at hand. At best I was hoping for a road, at worst, more of those things. Those dead things.

At least they couldn't get to me in the brush. I pushed forward, slashing and banging my way through. My backpack caught on a large thorn, and sheathed my knife before tilting my body to the left, pulling my bag free with my weight. The thorn snapped and fell to the ground, freeing my backpack, but I had leaned too far over, and I toppled the other direction into a rotten tree stump. I bounced off of it and tumbled to the ground. I didn't see the branch that had sunk itself into my left thigh until it was too late. I looked down at my leg as I lay there, trying to decide if it was worth getting up at the moment, but a screaming pain started up my leg, and I reluctantly pushed myself gently into a sitting position. I gritted my teeth and straightened out my leg to assess the damage. The branch that I had fallen on had been sticking out of the tree stump, and it had splintered off of the stump and stayed in my leg. And it was thick. A pool of blood had already begun to blossom out on my pant leg, and for just a moment I watched it as it spread. Then I took a deep breath and placed one hand on my thigh, pushing down on the skin. I gripped the branch with my other hand and yanked. A spurt of blood gushed out behind the branch, and I pressed my palm flat into it while I reached behind me to pull a handkerchief out of my pocket. I kept pressure on the wound while I rolled the handkerchief up, thinking to myself as I struggled with one hand that I should have done this before I pulled out the branch. When it was ready, I lifted my leg and slid the handkerchief underneath it. I let go of the wound and pulled the handkerchief tightly around my leg, tying it into a knot. My entire leg ached now, and I glared angrily at the bloody branch lying next to me. A leg injury would slow me down, and that was the last thing that I needed right now.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, tossing it back behind my shoulders again. There was no point getting upset, it wouldn't get me anywhere. It wouldn't get me to Terminus faster.

I took another deep breath and stood up before I could talk myself into staying down. Only when I stood did I notice that I had fallen out of the bramble patch and onto the other side. And on the other side was a road, just like I had hoped. Finally a bit of luck. I propped a hand on a nearby tree and took a step with my good leg, and then I gingerly tested my weight on my bad leg. It hurt like hell, but I could walk, for now. I had no choice. I needed to get somewhere safe before dark, and I had a better chance of finding shelter if I continued down the road. Where there was a road, there was usually civilization, at least in the past.

I took a few gentle steps, making my way slowly down a small slope and then up an incline to reach the paved road. I could feel blood trickling out of my wound into the handkerchief, but there was nothing I could do about it, and it didn't seem too severe. I pulled my knife out again and began my slow but steady trek down the road. I kept my eyes peeled on the surrounding trees, but nothing dead or alive came stumbling out of them. About a mile ahead, the road took a sharp curve, and I kept my eyes on the bend in the road as I got closer to it, unsure what I would see on the other side. At least when the road was flat my visibility was good; here it was not. Trees lined the sides of the road, and I wondered to myself what moron had designed the road, as it must have been ridiculously dangerous to drive on it.

I was lost in these thoughts when I first saw him, sitting in the middle of the road down past the bend, head bent down towards the ground. He was wearing a jacket or vest with angel wings, and he had his legs out in front of him, one hand propped on his upturned knee. His other hand was holding his body up, but he didn't appear to be moving, at all. I stopped still where I was and clutched my knife, watching him carefully. A crossbow lay behind him, but it didn't seem to be within easy reach. A backpack sat farther away. I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.

I scanned the area around him, but I didn't see anyone moving among the trees. People could easily be hidden, though, so I quietly backed up the way that I had come and melted into the trees on the side of the road. I had learned to make myself silent a long time ago, and I drifted up towards him, careful not to make any noise. About fifty yards away from him I stopped and knelt in the grass to keep watch. I took the opportunity to keep pressure on my injured leg, and I felt the blood stop flowing as I kept my eyes on him.

I watched him for a good half hour, but he didn't move. Nothing moved except the wind, lifting a few scattered leaves and blowing them around him. He never reacted. Despite all that I had learned since this had happened, I felt concern rising up inside of me. He didn't look dead, unless you took into consideration that he was on the verge of it. He looked…exhausted. I had never known the undead to just sit there unless one was stuck, and they were certainly never that still. I gnawed on a fingernail as I considered what to do. Keep moving past him, and hope he never noticed me? There was a good chance of that, but keeping my back to him made me nervous, too. And even though I tried to pretend that it wasn't there, a tiny little part of me knew that it had been a very long time since I had had any human contact, and I missed it. I looked down at my knife and tilted it towards my face, looking at my reflection in the blade. The hands that held it were bloody, and I vaguely wished that I could wash up somewhere before going up to him.

Going up to him. I guess it was decided, then. I gathered up my courage and stood up. My leg screamed angrily at me, but I ignored it. I pushed myself away from the cover of the trees and got back onto the road. This time I made my steps louder, so that I wouldn't come up from behind and scare him. He didn't react to my footsteps, so when I got within ten yards of him, I called out a soft greeting.

Nothing.

I moved a little closer. "Hello." I said, still keeping my voice low and clutching my knife in my left hand. "Are you okay?" Nothing again. I inched towards him, close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder. "Hello, do you need-"

Before I knew what had happened, he had scooped up his crossbow and stood, whirling around to point his weapon straight at my head. Pure instinct took over, and I reached into my jacket and pulled my gun out of its holster, releasing the safety and pointing it straight back at him. Everything else around me faded away except for the sight of him and his crossbow. Both of the arms that held our respective weapons were pointed out straight towards each other, inches from each other's faces. His hair was dark and it was in his eyes, but I knew he could see me just fine, and he definitely had the advantage, as he was much bigger than me.

I decided to be the first one to speak; maybe it would swing the advantage back my way. "Put it down." I said. "I won't hesitate." He didn't reply; he held the crossbow steady at me, not even a slight tremble in his hands. His eyes were squeezed nearly shut and he sized me up through the narrowed slits; his lips were pulled back tight. He looked mean, and it scared me, but I refused to show it. You show fear and you die. Yet he hadn't killed me yet, and I hoped that meant that maybe he wouldn't. "Put down your bow and arrow, Robin Hood." I said, adopting a mocking tone. "I was trying to see if you needed some wat-" In the middle of my sentence, he bent down and punched me in the leg, missing the injury itself but landing just to the left of it. A blinding pain burst out over me, and as I reared back from him he reached out and snatched my gun out of my hands, throwing it into the tall grass on the side of the road. I roared both in pain and fury and charged at him before I knew what I was doing. I aimed low and pushed up at his arms. I must have taken him by surprise, because his crossbow went careening out of his hands and we both flew backward to land on the hard cement. I landed on top of him, and it was only when I reached down to hit him that I realized that I was still holding onto my knife. I went to raise it back up high and swing it down, but he caught ahold of my wrist before I could and twisted it. I cried out and released the knife, and he batted it away from both of us. As I watched it arc away from me, he bucked his body up and pushed me off of him. He rolled me over and pinned me to the ground. I opened my mouth to scream, suddenly terrified, but he put a hand under my jaw and over my mouth before I could get anything out, clamping it shut. I couldn't even bite him.

"Shut up!" he barked, glaring down angrily at me. "Do you wanna attract walkers?" My heart thundered away in my chest, and I felt nothing but pure fear. I had been a fool. I twisted furiously beneath his hands, but he held me down effortlessly. I was so scared I barely registered the blood coursing down my leg from my wound; everything seemed like it was happening to another person. "I ain't gonna hurt you! Stop squirmin', I ain't gonna hurt you!" He shook me, hard, but still I kicked out, panicked out of my mind. "Stop it, dammit!" He kept shaking me, but instead of making me stop, it was increasing my fear, and I felt like a trapped animal. This seemed to occur to him after a moment, and finally he stopped rattling me around, loosening the pressure of his fingers on my shoulders. He kept his hands on me, still keeping me pinned down, but he stopped squeezing. The fog of panic cleared from my sight as my body stilled, but still my heartbeat thundered in my ears. He squinted down at me. "You calm?"

I looked up at him looking down at me, and even though he radiated danger, I felt some of the fear inside of me draining away. He still hadn't killed me, even though he very well could have. I waited a long time before I nodded. After a moment of silence, he lifted his hand off of my mouth and climbed off of me. I lay there for a moment before I leaned up and looked down at my leg, which was freely bleeding again. The movement caused a wave of pain to crash down over me, and I grimaced. I reached over and pulled off my handkerchief. It had slipped down my leg during our fight. I shook it out and refolded it, and then tied it tightly back around my thigh again. I pressed both hands against it, trying to re-staunch the bleeding. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I felt weak and bruised. I heard him rustling around in the grass around me, but I was too exhausted to make myself care what he was doing. I hoped he was leaving.

He surprised me instead by thrusting my gun and knife into my face, handles first. I looked up, shocked into silence, and took them from him. He had strapped his crossbow over his back and slung it behind him. He obviously didn't consider me a threat anymore. I took my weapons away from him and tucked them away, my knife sliding back into its sheath and my gun back into its holster. He backed away from me, but he didn't walk away. Regardless, I didn't look up at him. Once my weapons were back in place, I pulled my legs up and braced my hands flat on the road, preparing myself for the next part. I took a deep breath and pushed myself up into a standing position. My leg instantly gave out, and I tumbled hard back to the ground. Instead of moving to help me, he just stood there, watching me silently. It made me angry. I gritted my teeth and made myself stand again, but this time I was expecting the pain, so I put all of my weight on my good leg, and I was able to stand successfully. He continued watching me. I turned away from him and gingerly tested my bad leg to see if I could walk, putting just the slightest amount of pressure on it. It collapsed immediately, and I fell forward. I threw my hands out and caught myself from landing as hard, but this time I stayed down, feeling defeated. If I couldn't walk I couldn't do anything, least of all get to safety before dark.

"You can't walk." His voice was matter-of-fact, with no trace of concern in it. He didn't care; he was just stating a fact.

I didn't turn around to look at him, but I felt helpless anger rising inside of me. I balled my hands into fists. "No shit, Sherlock." I snapped. "But I don't have much of a choice, do I? Seeing as how you punched me right where I'm injured." I lowered my voice, keeping it just above a whisper. "What the hell kind of a guy hits a girl? Coward."

I wasn't very close to him, but I could immediately feel the fury coming off of him in waves, and I knew that he had heard me. I also knew that I had said the wrong thing. I reluctantly turned back around to face him, fighting every instinct to shy away. If he was going to attack, I needed to be ready.

He stalked up to me and pointed a finger down at me, still on the ground, his eyes as dark and furious as night. "I punched you to the side of it. But you asked for it."

I scoffed, his restraint giving me courage. "Asked for it? I believe we were both pointing weapons at each other. What you did was dirty." He shrugged, and it made me even angrier. I stood up again, ignoring the agony in my leg, and I pointed a finger back at him. "You don't get to-" I was sliding back towards the ground before I could finish, and he reached out his arms and caught me. Everything went black.


	2. Two

The sun was setting when I opened my eyes, and I didn't recognize my surroundings. The first thing I noticed upon waking was excruciating pain emanating from my leg. I reached down to clutch my thigh, and a tarp that had been placed over me shifted. I gripped the tarp in my free hand and yanked it off. I looked down at my injury, and it seemed to have stopped bleeding for the time being, even if the handkerchief tied over it was soaked in blood. I prodded it gently and winced. Bad idea. I closed my eyes momentarily, discouraged by my situation, but then I opened them again when I realized that I had no idea what my situation was. I sat up, my hand automatically going to my knife.

I was lying down in front of a crackling fire in a small opening in a stand of trees. I appeared to be away from the road, but I wasn't sure how far. Tied around the opening was a long line of fishing line, forming a square between four trees. Dangling from the line were various cans and other metal objects. If the wind had been blowing, they might have clanged together, but as it was they stood still. I was alone.

Had that guy just left me here? Obviously he had taken me here and covered me with a tarp, but I wasn't sure if he intended on coming back. I appreciated the sentiment of setting an alarm system for any dead that might approach, and I tucked that idea away for future use. As it was, though, I didn't feel safe staying here. My modus operandi when traveling had always been to sleep in trees, and the ground made me feel unsafe. However, with a leg injury there was no way I was climbing anything anytime soon. My best bet was to get back on the road and find shelter as soon as possible. I heaved a sigh and placed my palm on the nearest tree, preparing myself to stand. It was going to be painful, but I didn't have a choice. I had just grabbed a low-hanging branch to pull myself up on when I heard rustling in the nearby trees, and forgoing my knife, I reached into my holster and pulled out my gun. I couldn't fight close-range until I was healed; my gun was my best bet. I switched off the safety and pointed it in the direction that the noise was coming from. My finger rested lightly on the trigger, and I tried to keep my breathing even. I melted back against the tree, keeping low to the ground. I didn't want to fire my gun unless absolutely necessary, as that would attract more dead that I could hardly run away from. My heart pounded painfully in my chest, and I felt the same old sense of fear rising inside of me. I had lived so long with fear I wasn't sure what it was like not to have it anymore. Twigs crackled beneath the feet of whatever was moving, and I knew that it was a person. I just didn't know if the person was dead or alive.

I held my breath until he came into view. It was the same guy, and he was swinging a pair of squirrels from a string dangling from his belt. He came into sight of the little camp and stepped over the alarm line. He didn't even glance at me as he sat down by the fire and pulled the squirrels off of his belt. He shed his crossbow and set to work skinning them.

I belatedly realized that I was still holding my gun. I set the safety back on and put it back in my holster. I let go of the breath I was holding and leaned my head back on the tree, feeling some, but not all of, the fear draining away. The aching started in my leg again, and I straightened it out, not having the strength to get up at the moment. I let my gaze wander over to him, and I watched him as he worked on the squirrels. He never looked in my direction. After he was done skinning them, he poked them both onto sticks and held them over the fire. Despite the situation, my stomach grumbled as I smelled the roasting meat. When they were done, he stood up and brought one over to me, handing it to me without a word. I took it, surprised that he was acknowledging that I was there, and he went back to sit in front of the fire. He dug into his squirrel, and I watched him eat most of his before I finally took a bite of my own. It was very good, and it didn't take me long to finish afterwards. I tossed the stick into the fire when I was done. Part of me wanted to say thank you, but the other part of me remembered my throbbing leg, so I held my tongue. The sun was setting, and it was already dark among the trees, excepting our fire. I stared at the flames, thinking of what I should do. Stay here tonight, if he stayed here? Or leave regardless? I had better chances with another person, but I didn't have any clue what kind of a person he really was. He had punched me, of course, but he had also brought me food and not killed me when he had plenty of opportunity. He had taken me to a safer location. There were several things in his favor, but he was so silent I couldn't get a read on him. I continued watching him as he poked at the fire. I could clearly see the wings on the back of his vest in the waning daylight. Some angel, I thought wryly.

Eventually my leg drew my attention again, and I looked back down at it. My handkerchief was completely soaked through. I untied it and winced as I pulled it off, shaking it out again. Then I rolled it up and twisted it, attempting to drain out some of the blood. A few drops came out, and they splattered onto the ground. I sighed as I looked at it, knowing that it really wouldn't help staunch any more bleeding at this point. I had started to roll it up again to put it back on anyway when something was shoved in my line of sight. I looked up, and he was holding out a handkerchief to me. I hadn't even heard him get up. I paused for a beat before I accepted it from him.

This time I had to say it. "Thank you." He nodded and turned back around to sit by the fire. I tied the new handkerchief tightly around my leg, and felt a little bit better almost instantly. I balled up my old handkerchief and tossed it into the fire. I brought my uninjured leg up to my chest and I propped my chin on it, keeping my eyes on him. The fire sparked and crackled, sending tiny embers out into the air. Every once in a while he fed another stick to it. Finally I felt like I couldn't stand the silence any more. Maybe if he talked I could figure him out a little more. And if I could figure him out, maybe I could figure out where to go from here. "Thank you for keeping me safe while I was unconscious." I tried to inject true gratefulness into my voice; after all, I was. If I thought I was getting a response, though, I was wrong. Instead he just shrugged. I frowned, but I decided that I wasn't giving up that easy. "You're kind of the strong and silent type, aren't you?"

At that he looked over at me, his eyes narrowed into squints. He studied me for long enough that it made me uncomfortable, and I reflexively twitched my fingers, wanting to bring my hand up to my knife. "You can't walk."

Again with the not walking? Was he some kind of parrot? "Yes, I know." I said. "Thanks to the unbelievably bad luck of landing on both a branch and your fist in an extraordinarily small amount of time."

He pinched his lips in a thin line. "I didn't hit your wound. I hit to the side of it."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back onto the tree behind me. "Yeah." I said, exhaling. "You said that before. Still, you hit me."

I didn't think he was going to respond again, as a few minutes passed in silence, but again he surprised me. "I could have killed you. I just disarmed you."

He was right, of course. His voice was rough and low, but it wasn't unpleasant. He didn't use it any more than was necessary, however. His sentences were short and clipped, and he always seemed to be on the defensive. I opened my eyes again and he was looking at me. When my gaze met his, his eyes darted away. I felt any anger I had towards him drifting away, and my body unclenched. I settled my hands into my lap. "So what do you suggest I do?"

He poked the fire again, and I noted the tensed muscles in his arms. He seemed to be someone who had been at this for a long time; a survivor. A loner. I wondered why he was sitting in the middle of the road, but I knew better than to ask. I wouldn't get any answers. "You gotta heal."

"So I guess I'm stuck." I said, stating the obvious. I balled my hands into fists as I spoke. "Shit." I closed my eyes again, fighting off the despair that threatened to rise when I thought about how much my injury was going to cost me. Silence settled over us again, and I had just begun to run over my options in my head when he spoke again.

"There's a house a mile that way." He pointed further into the trees, east of the way that I had come. "Think we can make it." We? I couldn't have been more shocked if he had gotten down on one knee and proposed marriage. "We'll go in the morning." He turned back to look at me, and there was almost a defiant glimmer in his eyes, as if he was daring me to say no.

"Okay." I said, quickly. If he was offering to help, it was far be it from me to turn it down. "Thank you." This time it was me who was the parrot. He didn't acknowledge my thanks; instead he turned back to the fire and continued to stoke the flames.

The sun set below the horizon, and we sat around the fire in silence again. A few hours passed, and I wondered how I was going to possibly sleep with a stranger in my presence. I had been alone for so long that company completely threw me off, yet he was so quiet it was like I was alone anyways. He never moved from his position in front of the fire, and I don't remember falling asleep.


	3. Three

A/N: My apologies. I posted chapter two all over again. D'oh! Here is the correct chapter three. Hope you enjoy!

I was being shaken, and I opened my eyes again to uncertainty. My mind struggled to focus as my eyes saw the guy leaning over me.

"Let's go." he said. He turned and walked away from me, going to undo the strings he had tied up around the camp.

I sat up, rubbing at my neck, which ached from leaning up against the tree all night. I had learned how to sleep in trees once all of this started, but I always tied myself to them, and my body had compensated for the lack of it all night. I stretched it out and then turned my attention to my leg. The new handkerchief seemed to be holding up well, and while it still ached, it didn't seem to be freely bleeding anymore. That was a positive.

He finished undoing all of the strings and stuffed the alarm system into his backpack. He shouldered it and picked up his crossbow, then turned back to me and looked at me expectantly. I gripped a branch overhead and readied myself to stand. I didn't expect him to help me, and he didn't disappoint; instead he watched as I pulled myself up and tested my leg. It hurt like hell to put weight on it, but still I could, so I nodded back at him. He scooped up my backpack and swung it over a shoulder and then took off, and I followed behind him.

Our going was slow. I had to stop and rest my leg every once in a while, and at one point when we had to cross through a small thicket I stopped, feeling nervous. He pulled out his knife and hacked through as much as he could, then he held back the branches and let me go through first. I stepped gingerly, mindful of tripping. I kept my eyes on the ground, and I didn't see the dead woman until he had shoved me aside and lifted his crossbow, sighting her in his crosshairs. The arrow sank deep into her skull, and I was just pushing myself up off of the ground when he yanked it back out. He wiped the sinew off on her clothes and bent over to reload his crossbow. My heart settled into a normal rhythm again, but still I was worried. If I had been on my regular game, I could have dealt with her myself. I went to stand again, and I felt something shift in my leg. I looked down, and fresh blood was pumping through the handkerchief and streaming down my pant leg.

"Shit." I breathed. I put my hands over the wound immediately, pressing hard against it. The pressure on it lit it on fire, and I barely kept myself from crying out loud. I appeared to have burst whatever had clotted overnight.

At my curse he turned back around, and when he noticed me on the ground, he came over and knelt down next to me. He frowned and blinked slowly, his eyes on the blood flowing down my thigh. Finally he looked up at my face. "The house isn't far from here. I'll have to carry you." Without waiting for an answer, he slung his crossbow behind him and scooped me up, continuing down the way we were headed. My entire body stiffened against his, and I momentarily forgot the pain in my leg. It was unnerving to be this close to anyone, and I fought down the panic that rose up deep inside of me. I wanted to squirm out of his arms, but I knew he would drop me in a heartbeat, and the possibility of injuring myself further made no more sense than just acquiescing. I was suddenly very aware of my hands, and I didn't know what to do with them or where to put them. I settled on keeping pressure on my wound, and I turned my face away from his to watch where we were going. Every step seemed to take a lifetime.

I was more grateful than I had ever been in my life when I saw the house come into view. When we got within a few hundred feet of it, he knelt and deposited me on the ground. "Need to clear it." he said. He put down both of our backpacks next to me and brought his crossbow back around front. He took off towards the house without another word, and I watched him until he disappeared through the front door. I looked around me while I waited, keeping my eyes peeled, but nothing moved. I eyed his backpack, wondering what he deemed worthy enough to carry with him. I heard a small scuffle inside of the house, and I turned toward it in alarm, but when the front door opened and he came back out, dragging a body behind him, I relaxed. He seemed to be okay. He deposited the body far away from the house, and then he came back over to me. He picked up both of our backpacks. "Clear now." he said. He picked up our backpacks and put them on, and then reached for me again. This time I had had time to prepare, and that almost made it worse. I pulled as far away from him as I could in his arms, and he frowned down at me. "Relax." I bit my lip and tried, but it felt so strange to be that close to someone. Especially someone whose name I didn't even know.

He went up the steps and through the front door of the house. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, and he went straight into the living room. He deposited me on the couch, then shed our backpacks and went back to close and block the front door. I took the opportunity to look around.

Clearly an elderly couple had lived here in a past life. Crocheted doilies were on the tops of all of the end tables, and a large one was draped over the back of the couch that I sat on. A few picture frames holding photographs of small children decorated the mantle over the fireplace, and I figured that they were whoever had lived here's grandchildren. A vase sat on the end table closest to me, and if it had held flowers in the past, they were long gone. A cordless phone and a TV remote control sat next to the vase. There was at least a good half-inch of dust on both of them.

He had just finished shoving a small desk in front of the front door when I finished looking around the living room. He turned back to me. He gestured to my leg, and I realized I was still pressing my hands very hard against it. They were covered in blood. "Need to clean that." I nodded, and he took off in search of supplies. Or at least, I assumed that's what he was doing. I heard him rattling around deep inside of the house, and I kept holding down pressure until he came back, not sure what else to do. When he came back into the room a few minutes later, he was juggling a bottle of whiskey, some gauze, a towel, and a large strip of cloth. He deposited the items on the coffee table and pushed it closer to me on the couch. He reached over to his side and pulled out his knife. He undid his knotted handkerchief and set it aside, and then grabbed ahold of my pant leg, making to insert the knife into the fabric.

"Hey, whoa!" I said, reaching out to stop his hands. He pulled his own back quickly as soon as my fingertips brushed his skin. "What are you doing?"

He looked at me as if I were being dense. "I have to cut the pant leg off."

"Uh, why?" I didn't understand.

"Either that or you just take 'em off." There was no ulterior motive in his tone; he was just stating a fact. Still, it made me blush. I nodded and looked away from him, shutting up. He reached out again and lifted my pant leg, cutting a wide berth around the wound. Once the hole was wide enough, he stuck his fingers in and pulled it apart, ripping it even wider. I winced, but I didn't say anything. He stuck his knife back in its sheath and reached for the bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the top and handed it over to me.

I looked back at him without taking it. "What?"

He held it closer to me. "Drink. It'll help."

I shook my head. "I don't want any." Still, he didn't take it away from my face. He held it there until I finally took it from him in anger. I tossed back a gulp, and I shivered as it made its fiery way down my throat and into my stomach. I coughed as he took it back from my hands, and before I had time to prepare myself, he turned it upside down and splashed it into my wound. "FUCK!" I yelled, coming off of the couch. White-hot pain shot across my entire body, and stars danced in front of my eyes. I felt him push me back on the couch, and I collapsed backwards, feeling like I was going to pass out from the pain. I didn't register him cleaning the rest of the wound, all I could feel was the pain from the alcohol. I lay back on the couch in a stupor for what felt like a really long time. When finally the pain dulled to a throbbing ache, I opened my eyes again. He was sitting in the recliner next to the couch, and he was looking at me. If I wasn't mistaken, he was wearing a look of mild amusement.

My chest was still heaving, and the look on his face made me angrier. "Fuck you." I snapped. "Thanks for telling me what you were doing."

He shrugged. "No peroxide. Had to do it."

I looked down at my leg. He had cut the rest of my pant leg off, so that I had one long pant leg and one short one. But the wound was dressed nicely, and he had wrapped it in a long strip of what looked like a sheet. Still, I shot him a furious look. "You still could have told me so that I could prepare myself." He shrugged again. I wanted to throw something at him, but there was nothing within reach. And suddenly I realized my anger with him was futile; it would get me absolutely nowhere. I heaved a sigh and leaned my head back on the couch. I brought my hand up and rubbed at my eyes. Things were so different in less than twenty-four hours. It was a lot to process. Something occurred to me then, and I opened my eyes back up. "I don't know your name."

He hesitated before answering, as if he was coming to some sort of decision. "Daryl."

He didn't ask mine, but I volunteered it anyways. No point in both of us being rude. "I'm Grace."

He nodded and looked away, seeming uncomfortable. "We should eat." He stood up. "Gonna see if there's anything in the kitchen." He left the room.


	4. Four

I sighed and looked down at my leg again. I looked ridiculous with two mis-matched pants legs. I leaned onto one side and pulled my knife out of its sheath, and I set to work cutting up the other pant leg. I tossed the leftover material onto the coffee table next to the other one. I put my knife away and sat back on the couch, wondering where to go from here.

Daryl came back into the room, and he was carrying two bottles of water and two cans. The lids had been pried off of the cans. "There's plenty of food here." He handed me a can, and I saw that it was mixed beans. He put my bottle of water on the coffee table. "We can stay for a while if you want."

There was that 'we' again. What exactly was he planning? He kept everything so close to the chest it was impossible to tell. "Daryl," I said. "You don't have to stay here and help me if you don't want. I'll be okay."

He scraped around in his can for a bit before answering. "You can't get around." He shrugged again, and for the first time I began to wonder if it was a defensive gesture he was making, not a dismissive one.

I set my can down on the coffee table and pushed myself into a sitting position on edge of the couch. I was taking a huge chance, but I was pretty sure he wasn't the killing type by now. "I was going to this place called Terminus. There are signs everywhere saying that anyone is welcome. You should come with me."

Daryl squinted at me in that way that he had. "I was heading there anyway. I was with a group. We got split up."

A group. Daryl was with a group. So he wasn't a loner after all. Or maybe he still was, even when he was around other people. Some people just preferred to be alone. For the first time since I had met him, I smiled. "Then we can go to Terminus together." Daryl didn't smile back at me, but he nodded, and that was good enough for me.

He stood up then and went over to his backpack. He pulled out the homemade alarm system and went back through the kitchen, and I heard him open a door in the back. I leaned back onto the couch and closed my eyes, listening to the faint sounds of him setting it up. I was feeling the effects of the past day, and my body was tired from losing so much blood.

I drifted off again, and it was hours later when I awoke. The house was dark, but Daryl had lit some candles and placed them around the living room. I yawned and looked around the living room. Daryl was sitting in the recliner, his crossbow next to his chair, and he was watching me. I sat up, feeling embarrassed. He had the most unnerving way of looking at someone.

"How late is it?" I asked, only because I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Probably about ten." Daryl said.

I grimaced. "I didn't mean to sleep that late." I gestured to him. "You should sleep now. I can stay up and keep watch."

Daryl shook his head. "Don't need to trade. If we both stay upstairs in one room we should be okay. Walkers can't get up stairs."

Walkers. I had never heard them called that before. Still, something he said made me pause. "One room?"

"Makes escape easier if we're together." he replied. Again, I didn't sense that he meant anything inappropriate. He was just thinking logically. He was extremely matter-of-fact. In a way it both pleased and offended me, just a little.

"Okay." I said. "But if you're tired you can go ahead and go up there. I don't want to keep you up."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "How are you gonna come upstairs if I'm asleep?" He pointed at my leg.

"Oh." I said. He was right, of course. The thought of him carrying me again made me feel flush all over. "Well, uh, okay. I'm ready when you are, then."

Daryl stood up and began blowing out all of the candles except for one, which he slid off of an end table and handed to me. "Hold this." I took it from him, and he shouldered his crossbow and then bent down to slide his hands underneath me. The touch of his fingers on me made my skin erupt in goosebumps, and I prayed that he didn't notice. It had been a long time since I had had regular human contact, and I didn't realize how much I had missed it. He pulled me up against his chest, and to distract myself I focused on keeping the candle lit. I curled a hand around it and guarded the flame as he started upstairs. On the fourth step from the top the flame flickered and went dangerously close to going out, and Daryl stopped still on the stair. We both watched as it disappeared and then came flickering back, holding our breath together. When it popped back into existence, I looked up at him and laughed, and he rewarded me with his first smile. It changed his entire face. The hard lines softened, and his eyes lightened considerably. They were as blue as the sky on a crisp summer day.

When his eyes met mine, however, he dropped the smile on his face and settled it back into its neutral state. I looked back down at the candle, feeling like I was somehow worse off than before. Daryl continued up the stairs and down the hallway to the last bedroom on the left. He pushed open the door with his foot and walked into the room. He deposited me gently on the bed, but he wouldn't look at me again. He went back to the door and closed and locked it. He walked over to the dresser and began to push it in front of the door.

I set the candle on the nightstand next to the bed, feeling duly embarrassed. I hardly knew this guy, yet I was being a giant fool in front of him. Me, who told herself every day that she needed no one and that she was just fine on her own. One day in another guy's company and I turn into a gigantic wimp. I felt shame wash over me. For all I knew, he was married and trying to find his wife again. God, I hated myself sometimes. If I got to Terminus, would I make a gigantic ass of myself there, too?

Daryl finished moving the dresser and turned back around to me. "Do you, uh, need anything?" This time it was me who couldn't look back at him; I shook my head. Daryl walked over to the bed. "Can I have one of those pillows?" He gestured to the other side of me, where two pillows were neatly stacked on the other side of the bed. I reached over and picked one up, handing it over to him. He took it from me and walked to the side of the room, dropping it onto the carpet. He sank down to the floor and stretched out his legs, crossing one over the other. He closed his eyes. I opened my mouth to tell him that I didn't mind sharing the bed, but then I remembered the look in his eyes when our gaze had met, and I closed my mouth. I leaned up to blow out the candle next to me, and then I curled up tightly into a ball on the bed. I didn't sleep for a very long time.


	5. Five

I was woken the next morning by the sound of Daryl moving the dresser. Sunlight filtered in through the lace curtains, and I watched the wings on his vest move as he worked. When he turned back around to pick up his crossbow, he noticed that I was awake. He nodded a greeting, and then gestured towards the stairs.

"I'll get food." He turned around, leaving me alone in the room. I had slept fitfully, and had nightmares of things past. I scooted across the bed and looked at myself in the mirror across the room. I looked like hell. My hair was tangled, and most of my skin was covered in blood from my leg. I had to wash up somewhere. I looked down at my leg and then came to a decision. I combed my fingers through my hair and then pushed myself off of the bed. I leaned my weight on the end table and stood up. I gingerly tested my leg, and when it didn't give out, I put more and more weight on it until I was standing on my own. I took a tentative step, and then another. It seemed to be holding up okay, so I slowly crossed the room and went through the doorway. Daryl was rustling around somewhere downstairs, so I leaned onto the rail and made my way carefully down the stairs, taking each one slowly. It took ages, and it was frustrating, but I felt accomplished when I reached the bottom. I turned right, towards the kitchen. Daryl was organizing cans on the counter, and counting water bottles. His crossbow was strung across his back, covering up the wings.

"Did I see a well in back?" I asked.

Daryl whipped around, drawing his knife and flipping it up so that the blade pointed downward.

"Whoa!" I said, holding my hands up.

When Daryl realized that it was me, he sheathed his knife again angrily. "How the hell did you get down here?"

I lowered my hands. "Walked. Carefully."

He frowned. "You shouldn't be doin' that. Gonna open that wound again."

I felt my hands ball into fists at my sides involuntarily. "I can't sit around like a lump all day. It will drive me crazy." Daryl's expression seemed to imply that I was driving him crazy, but if that's what he was thinking, he didn't say it. Instead he turned back around to resume counting the bottles. I walked around him to peek out of one of the back windows. "It is a well! And there's a bucket right next to it. I'm going to go get some water." I desperately wanted to wash the blood off of me. I had put my hand on the back doorknob when I felt Daryl's hand grip my shoulder, firm but not hard.

"Let me." he said. I swallowed the urge to argue. He gently pushed me out of the way and opened the back door. He slid his crossbow around front and then stepped out onto the back deck. He descended the few steps to the back yard and walked towards the well. I could see him keeping aware of his surroundings, and I couldn't keep myself from wondering about his past again. Maybe one day, when we were at Terminus together, he would let me ask him.

He knelt in front of the well and pulled the bucket over beneath the spout. While he pumped the water, my gaze wandered, and then it snapped to the edge of the porch, caught by movement. A dead man, a walker, was ambling towards Daryl, who was none the wiser. He probably couldn't hear over the gushing water. I yanked open the back door and ignoring my protesting leg, leapt down the back stairs. I unsheathed my knife and lifted it high in the air as I caught up to the walker. I sank my knife into its skull until it reached the hilt, and I managed to keep my balance as the walker went down. Daryl turned around at the commotion, and he leapt up when he saw the walker falling.

"What the hell-" he began, but I cut him off.

"I got it." I said. "It's okay."

Daryl looked at me furiously. He scooped up the water bucket and then stalked over to me, grabbing me by the upper arm. He marched me into the house and then closed the back door behind us, locking it. He dropped his crossbow onto the table. "You stay in the house." he said, releasing my arm. "That's the deal."

I scrunched up my face. "What deal?" I was still holding my knife, and I set it down in the kitchen sink to wipe the walker bits off of.

Daryl gestured angrily to me, and then back to him. "This."

I mimicked his gestures. "What exactly is this?"

He furrowed his brow, and I knew that I had asked him the wrong thing. "If you want my help, you stay in the house. You do what I say. Or deal's off."

"I didn't agree to any deal, Daryl." I said. "You barely speak to me. I didn't know there was any kind of understanding between the two of us."

Daryl dropped the water bucket onto the floor of the kitchen and pointed a finger at me. "You stay here." He turned and left the kitchen, and I sighed into the now empty room. I had just turned back to the water bucket when he stomped back into the room. He was holding a set of gauze, a hand towel, and another strip of the sheet he had ripped up. Seeing those reminded me of my wound, and I looked down to see a trickling of blood sliding down my leg.

"Oh, dammit." I sighed. All of the commotion in the back yard must have caused it to bleed again.

Daryl pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit in it. I did, deciding to keep my mouth shut for the time being. I stretched my leg out, and while it didn't hurt as much as it did yesterday, obviously I had overexerted myself. Daryl pulled off the old strip of cloth and tossed it into the kitchen sink next to my knife. He peeled off the gauze and tossed them in next. He dipped the towel into the water bucket and twisted it, ringing out the excess water. Then he began to wipe my leg off, keeping care to stay away from the wound itself. His strokes were soft, and the care he took belied his aura as a tough guy. When my leg was clean, he set the towel aside and picked up the gauze. He pressed it gently to the wound with one hand, and then used his other to begin winding the strip around it. When he was done, he tied the ends in a knot. He made to move away and pick up the water bucket, but I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. I could see him visibly resist pulling away, but I held on anyway.

"Thank you, Daryl." I said, meaning it, and wanting him to know it. "For everything." He studied me in that silent way of his for a minute, but then finally he nodded, and I felt like I had passed some sort of minor test. I let go of him and reached for the water bucket. "I just want to rinse off." Daryl slid it towards me, and I dipped my hands in to begin washing the blood off of them. If I had had soap, it would have been better, but as it was, most of it came off. I dried them off on the towel he handed me, and then Daryl picked the bucket up. He put it on the kitchen counter and picked up my knife. He dunked it in the water bucket and washed it off with a sponge that was sitting on the counter. He dried it off on a towel hanging from the oven door and then handed it back to me, gripping it the same way that he had before, pointed side down. I slid it back into its sheath at my side. Daryl stuck his hands in the bucket and washed them off as best as he could, but at this point the water was quite dirty. He dried his hands on the towel and picked up the bucket again. He opened the back door and went out onto the porch to dispose of the water. He came back inside and put the bucket by the back door. He closed and locked the door, and then turned back to me.

"You need to rest." I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued on. "You're gonna keep opening that wound and it won't heal. If it don't heal because you're being stupid, I'm leavin' you here on your own."

I wasn't sure if he actually would, but the threat was enough. "Okay." I said. "Okay. I'll rest."

"Do you wanna stay on the couch or on the bed?" He made to move and pick me up again, but I threw my hand up.

"I can walk." I said. "And the couch is fine." I stood up from the chair, and Daryl came over and followed me while I limped into the living room. I lowered myself onto the couch and stretched my legs out.

Daryl watched me settle myself in. "Hungry?"

I smiled up at him, wanting to keep the peace between us. "I could eat, yeah." I said. I reached over to the coffee table and picked up my water from the night before. "I don't need anything to drink, though." Daryl turned around and left the living room. He rummaged around in the kitchen and came back with two cans. He sat down on the recliner and began to open them both with his knife. When he had pried the lid off of the first one, he handed it over to me along with a fork. I peered inside and saw peaches. I hated peaches, but I wasn't going to say a word. I stuck my fork in and began to eat.

Before, back when the dead didn't roam the earth, eating had become something that you did with a screen in front of your face. The television had helped to fill in a lot of empty time, and without it, eating in silence seemed awkward. I never knew where to look, or what to think about, or what to say. I kept my eyes on my can, and Daryl did the same, I'm guessing. I didn't sneak any glances his way. He was so quiet all of the time that it made everything exponentially more uncomfortable. When I finished, I put the can down on the coffee table in front of me, and I chased away the taste of the peaches with the rest of the bottle of water. When Daryl finished, he stood up and gathered the cans, taking them into the kitchen. I heard him clanging around, and then the back door opened and closed. I tensed up on the couch, wondering what he was doing, but the house was silent and I couldn't hear anything outside. I scooted to the edge of the couch and tried to peer into the kitchen, but I couldn't see anything from this angle. I briefly considered getting up off of the couch, but if Daryl came back in and saw me standing he might just turn around and leave for good. I settled myself back into my original position, feeling a little angry. Apparently it was too much to ask to be kept informed.

I looked around the living room for something to do. Maybe the end tables had a book inside of one of their drawers. I reached over and opened the end table drawer to my left and was rewarded with a crossword puzzle book and a stubby pencil. How lucky, I thought. It was almost never that easy on the first try. I settled back into the couch and opened up the book. The first eight puzzles were already completed, but the book was untouched after that.

I had completed four puzzles before I really began to wonder where Daryl was. I heard no movement outside of the house. What if he really had left me? When confronted with a bad situation, it's human nature to assume the worst. In reality, Daryl was probably scanning the area for walkers or assessing our water situation, but of course those things didn't occur to me. I automatically thought of the worst possible thing, and I worked myself into a right state. I convinced myself that he had left, and as time stretched on, each minute seeming to last an hour, I got angrier and angrier. I was trying to figure out where he had left my backpack so that I could begin to figure out when to leave myself when I heard the back door open again. Relief flooded through my system.

Daryl walked into the living room, swinging two more squirrels by a bit of rope. He didn't acknowledge me, and the relief I felt melted away, replaced by fury.

"What the hell, Daryl?" He looked over at me in surprise. "You couldn't have told me you were leaving?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "I kept an eye on the house."

I didn't realize how hard I was gripping the pencil until it snapped in two in my fist. I tossed the pieces away angrily. "That's not the point." I said, struggling to keep my voice level. "You just left and didn't tell me."

"So?" Daryl shrugged, and for just a brief moment, I hated him.

"So?" I snapped. "You really have a serious communication deficit, don't you?"

If Daryl had shrugged again, I might have come off of the couch at him, but instead he turned away from me and knelt down in front of the fireplace. He began to build a fire, I guessed to cook the squirrels on, and several minutes went by in silence. I had just resigned myself to our conversation being over when he spoke. "Sorry." I was in the midst of digging around for the pencil that I had tossed away and I froze at his apology. "I'll tell you if I leave."

I found the stub at the end of the couch and I picked it up. "Thank you." I said, softly. "I'm sorry, too. I'm just having trouble adjusting to being around a person again."

Daryl nodded but he didn't turn around to look at me, he just continued working on the fire. Whoever had lived here before had stacked plenty of firewood next to the fireplace, and Daryl fed the logs in slowly. Heat began to radiate out into the living room, and I realized for the first time how cold I was. Winter was rapidly approaching. Daryl crossed his legs and sat in front of the fireplace. I took the opportunity to really look at him. His hair was dark, and it curled out around his collar. His clothes were roughly in the same shape as mine, but he at least was covered from head to foot. I would have to find some pants somewhere. I wondered where he had gotten his vest with the angel wings. What he had done before this whole thing had started? Who was he before? Was he always this reserved, or had it been because of everything he had had to do since? This world changed people. Some for the better, most for the worse. I rested my chin on the back of the couch and kept my eyes on him, my mind asking him a million questions about him and my lips voicing none of them.


	6. Six

After some time, Daryl picked up the squirrels again and began to skin them. He tossed the fur and inedible bits into the fire, and it crackled and sparked. He stuck them onto some wire and hovered them over the fire to roast. When they were done, he stood up and came over to the couch. He hesitated, looking over at the recliner, but then he seemed to reach some sort of decision and he sat down next to me on the couch, albeit down where my feet were. He handed over a squirrel and then dug into his own. I smiled before I took a bite of my own squirrel, keeping my face turned away from his.

I felt better after I finished the squirrel. The protein pepped me up a little bit, and I needed all the nutrients I could get after blood loss. When I was finished, I gestured to Daryl with the wire that I had eaten the squirrel off of. "Where did you get the wire?"

He dragged his sleeve across his mouth, wiping it off. "Wire hangers. Found them upstairs."

"Smart." I said. I smiled at him. "You're very resourceful."

Daryl shrugged, but this time it didn't feel dismissive or mean. "Kinda have to be." I started to ask him a question, but he interrupted me by gesturing to my leg. "How does it feel?"

"Okay." I said. "Better. Thank you." He nodded and looked away from me, back across the room. Silence fell over both of us, but it wasn't as awkward as before. Or maybe I was just getting used to this odd relationship. The sun began its descent downward outside. I might have dozed in and out, but Daryl never left.

When I had fully awoken Daryl shifted on the couch, and I looked over at him. "There's board games upstairs. I dunno, do you wanna play one or something?"

I bit my cheek to keep from smiling, as it seemed to make him uncomfortable. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he threw me another curveball. "Okay." I said, keeping my voice even. The fact of the matter was, nothing tickled me more than the thought of seeing tough Daryl playing Mouse Trap. He got up off of the couch and went upstairs. I heard them creak as he went up each one and then a door opened upstairs. He shuffled around up there for a minute and then went back down the stairs. He walked into the living room, juggling several games in his arms. He sat them down on the coffee table in front of me.

"You can pick." he said. "I only brought the ones I know how to play."

I sat up on the couch and peered at the games he had brought down. While I was looking, he made the rounds around the living room again, re-lighting the candles that were still placed around the room. I settled on Monopoly. I set the other games aside and spread the board out on the coffee table. I divvied out the money and then held up the pieces. "Which one do you want to be?" Several games pieces were missing, but there was still the hat, the car, the Scottie dog, the iron, and thimble. Daryl had brought a chair over from the kitchen, and he sat down in it. He looked at the pieces in my hand for a moment before he reached over and grabbed the dog. His fingers brushed against my palm, and my heart picked up speed in my chest. Damn you, I thought. Stop doing this to yourself. I picked the iron and set the rest of the pieces to the side. Daryl settled back into his chair and watched while I set the rest of the board up, and we began to play. A few hotels were missing, so we had to use some of the playing pieces in their stead.

A few hours passed, and soon the board was filled with various playing pieces and property owned by both of us. The game was fairly close, and Daryl was playing very well. I rolled the dice, and they turned up a three and a four. I counted my iron seven places, and I landed on one of Daryl's properties.

"That's mine!" he said. "And it's a hotel. Pay up."

"That's not a hotel." I said. "That's a house!"

Daryl shook his head. "We agreed that the thimble would be a hotel."

I dropped the money I was holding. "We did not! We agreed it would be a house."

"Stop cheating." Daryl said. "Give me my money."

"You're cheating." I shot back. "That's a house!" Daryl had just begun smirking at me from across the board, and I realized in the middle of speaking what he was doing. "I hate you. Liar." He reached over to snatch up my money and I grabbed his hands. "No you don't!" I cried. He pushed me playfully backwards into the cushions and I couldn't help but laugh. "Daryl!"

I had just pulled myself up off of the cushions to go back after him when we both heard the tinkling. It was coming from outside. The alarm system. Daryl held up a finger to me to stay silent and motioned for me to get down low, and he reached beside him and grabbed his crossbow. He went over to the nearest window and flattened himself against the wall. He kept his crossbow in his left hand and hooked a finger underneath the curtain, lifting it just enough that he could peer out. He was silent while he watched for a minute, and then he turned back to me.

"Walker." he mouthed. He held up one finger, signaling that it was alone. The alarm system clanged again; the walker must be pressing itself up against it. "I've got to get it." Daryl whispered. "It's making too much noise."

I sat back up on the couch. "Daryl." I said, feeling my palms break out in a sweat. He turned back to look at me. "Be careful."

He nodded and flipped the switches on the window. He still had the front door blocked. He lifted the sill up and climbed out onto the front porch. I couldn't see through the curtain, but I listened anxiously. I heard the discharge of his arrow and the soft thud as it landed in the walker. Then the alarm system clanged loudly, and I clutched the pillow next to me in fear.

"Daryl!" I whisper-yelled. No response. I heard the alarm system making noise again, and a shuffling on the porch. I had just decided to get up again when a leg poked through the window and Daryl climbed back inside. He was clutching his spent arrow in one hand and his crossbow in the other. He seemed to be untouched. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." he said. He turned around and closed the window behind him, locking it again. The curtain fluttered back down. He reloaded his crossbow and set it next to his chair. He sat back down and looked at me. "The walker knocked everything down. I had to set it up again."

I looked him over until I was satisfied, and then I settled back into the couch. My heart was still galloping away, and I took a few deep breaths to try to slow it back down. "At least we know it works." I said.

Daryl nodded. He gestured back to the board, unfazed. "Do you want to keep playing?"

The playful mood we had both been in earlier was gone. I shook my head and leaned back against the cushions, feeling exhausted all of the sudden. "We can continue tomorrow."

Daryl peered at me across the board. "You look tired. Want me to get you something to eat?"

I was tired, but I wasn't hungry. "No, thank you." I said. "But you eat. I'm just going to rest here for a bit." Daryl waited a beat before he got up and went into the kitchen. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the couch.

I didn't wake until I felt Daryl sliding his hands underneath me. He lifted me off of the couch and tucked me into his chest, and this time instead of tensing, either because I was completely spent or because I didn't think I had to fight him anymore, I rested my head against his shoulder and let him carry me. Moonlight filtered into the house, and it lit our way as he took me upstairs. He had already placed a lit candle in the bedroom, and the blankets were pulled back on the bed. He set me down gingerly. He unlaced my boots and pulled them off, putting them down on the floor next to the bed. He leaned over me and grabbed the edge of the blanket to pull it back over me. When he came back across me, I reached up and hooked my fingers into his vest. He didn't flinch away.

"Stay here with me." It was four tiny words, but it took all of the effort I had to say them. I hated admitting I was weak, that I needed someone. That I needed anything. But I needed him, desperately. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn't alone. And now that I'd had a taste, I couldn't stand the alternative. I had been lying to myself all along. I needed people. I needed Daryl.

Daryl hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he kicked off his own shoes and leaned over to blow out the candle. The room descended into darkness. I didn't know where he was going to lay, as I could no longer see, but I shifted over in the bed. There was a quiet rustling of clothes, and then the other side of the bed dipped. He didn't feel very close to me, but I stayed in my spot just in case. I didn't want to scare him or make him uncomfortable; I was just asking for his presence, and it soothed me immediately. He turned over in the bed, and I wasn't sure if it was to face me or turn away from me until our hands accidentally brushed against each other. I assumed he would yank his hand away, but when our fingers laced themselves together I smiled into the darkness. Neither one of us let go all night.


End file.
